Kyro Oneshots
by somekindafreaky
Summary: As the title suggests, this is a collection of KittyJohn oneshots, each from a different prompt set at the LJ Community Phase&Fire. They're all fairly short, standalone, and come in a variety of genres from angst to humour. But all are romance :P
1. Laugh

This is going to be a collection of short and unrelated one-shots (unrelated except that they're all kyro, of course), each based on a different prompt from a prompt table by hazycrazy and muffinlover, over at Phase & Fire, the kyro fanfic community.

What (prompt): laugh

When: pre-X2 (while John is still at the institute)

…

**Laugh**

It was a sunny day; one of those really bright, _glaring_ summer ones where the heat is oppressive and tiring.

John liked heat, thrived in it, took to it like a fish to water. Likely he wouldn't be as affected by it as many of the students, notably Bobby who was sweating up a storm and actually looked like he might be melting.

But John was also not a particularly cheerful sort of guy. Little as he was bothered by the temperature, he did not revel in it as some of the merrier mutants did.

Kitty Pryde revelled in it. She was boiling hot – he could tell just by looking at her. She had tied a bandana round her head, underneath her long brown hair that the humidity had increased twofold in volume. Her skin was shiny with perspiration, and more of it was on show today as she wore only a strappy white top and denim shorts. Despite her dark hair her skin was very fair, and already her shoulders and upper arms were turning red.

Any sensible person would be uncomfortable, but Kitty was one of those annoyingly sanguine types.

She wasn't the most popular girl in the school, mostly because she spent a lot of her time studying and had, John had heard, a bit of a temper (he had always been curious to see what she was like when she let that loose). Today, however, she had no short of friends.

She was sat on the edge of the swimming pool, her bare feet dangling in the cool water. A number of people milled about her, people John had no interest in like Jubilee and Doug Ramsey.

John meanwhile was lounging on the grass in the shade of a wide tree not far from the pool, directly opposite where Kitty sat. That was the only reason he was looking at her at all. Certainly he had not paid her much attention in the past. She was pretty, sure, in a cute, childlike sort of way that didn't do it for him remotely. He liked women like he liked… everything. Fiery.

So looking at her now, John felt little except boredom and a macabre sort of curiosity. Because she was so _happy_, although there was nothing to be happy about. She seemed happy just because it was a nice day and she and her friends were alive. What sort of reason was that to be happy? She was like some sort of perpetually chipper puppy, or more appropriately, kitten.

Bobby was showing off, as usual. He must have used his power to make the water turn suddenly much colder, because Kitty gave a squeal and kicked her legs up in shock. Bobby laughed, and she laughed. He splashed her, and she laughed again.

She had a nice laugh, and it got under John's skin in a way he wasn't sure he liked or not. She had no reason to laugh either. Bobby wasn't funny. Lots of people were laughing now, and he didn't know why or have any desire to find out.

He glared at his lighter, the sunshine glinting off its metal surface blindingly. He couldn't remember the last time he had laughed, not properly at least. The only laughter that came out of his mouth these days was cruel, mocking or bitter, and often all three.

At the sound of Kitty's musical giggle he looked up again. Her smile was dazzling.

Sometimes, in those rare moments he let his mind wander, he thought it might be sort of pleasant if he could laugh with her.


	2. Lie

What: Lie

When: I… I'm not really sure, lol. It could be while he's still at the institute, it could be after X-3 (although you'd have to fill in A LOT of blanks there…). I guess it's up to you lovely readers where in the timeline you want this to be :)

OK guys, this is _sort of_ a songfic, except that instead of a song I've used Shakespeare's Sonnet 138 :D I love Shakespeare! Although I dunno how I feel about this story. It's kinda angsty and sort of all over the place, lol. Oh well.

…

**Lie**

_When my love swears that she is made of truth_

_I do believe her, though I know she lies,_

It wasn't the first time he had lain awake watching her doze next to him, and likely it would not be the last. In the silvery moonlight that shone in through the window, illuminating half of her beautiful face, she looked so much more peaceful than during the day. As well she might, for their life wasn't an easy one.

It was an uphill struggle, one that she strived and fought to maintain. John, on the other hand, was not so optimistic. He just wasn't that sort of person.

"You are," Kitty had told him just that previous day. She had told him many times. "You're a wonderful person. I know it."

He wanted badly to believe her, to convince himself that he was worthy, when in fact both of them knew deep down that he had given up long ago.

"There is hope," she would smile, "It's the truth."

But there was no hope for him.

_That she might think me some untutor'd youth,_

_Unlearned in the world's false subtleties._

She knew all he had done, all he was capable of doing. He sighed and lifted his hand to stroke her disarrayed hair very softly, not wanting to wake her. She stirred slightly and her lashes fluttered but she remained asleep.

She looked so childlike and innocent, and he wondered yet again how she could stand to be associated with someone like him. He had the feeling that in her heart she carried round some ideal of him as an untainted soul who had not seen the things he had seen or lived the things he had lived, and who would not ultimately contaminate her purity. He would give anything to match that perfect idea she had of their perfect relationship, when in fact it was a rather unhealthy one.

_Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,_

_Although she knows my days are past the best,_

What a hypocrite he was! Mentally scolding her, albeit fondly, for daydreaming of something better, when in fact he encouraged it if anything. He hated himself for letting her believe he was better than he was, for doubtless the best course of action would be to stop this thing before it ruined the both of them. And yet he couldn't deny the guilty pleasure he gained from knowing that someone thought highly of him, even if they did so incorrectly.

Someone like her too – she was someone far too good for him and he knew he didn't deserve her at all. She was the only good thing he had ever really had, and he felt like the luckiest guy in the world lying beside her, granted the chance to look at her so closely and intimately.

How long could it last? John had never been able to hold onto anything worthwhile. He was his own worst enemy, and knew he would end up destroying this thing he had found with Kitty. Where she was battling uphill, he was slowly sliding further and further down.

He was past the point of no return.

_Simply I credit her false speaking tongue:_

_On both sides thus is simple truth suppress'd._

Such morose ponderings always unsettled John, however accustomed he was to having them. Grimacing slightly, he inched closer to Kitty and slid his arms round her, seeking comfort. She immediately nestled up against him, and he was almost consumed by guilt once again. Both were taking advantage of the other, providing sweet solace and fulfilling each others' need for warmth and love. He had always been a user; now he had turned Kitty into one too.

_But wherefore says she not she is unjust?_

_And wherefore say not I that I am old? _

He would never say these things to her, because he neither wanted to insult her nor do what he ought, which was finish this affair entirely before he dragged her down with him.

With this in mind he disentangled himself once again, hating himself for running so hot and cold and longing just to give in at the expense of them both. As he moved back over to his side of the bed his arms felt empty.

Kitty shifted at the loss of his presence and curled up tighter against the cool of the night. For looking at her there, distressed at sleeping alone, he might have kidded himself that she really did love him.

_O, love's best habit is in seeming trust,_

_And age in love loves not to have years told:_

His own emotions were a complete enigma and he didn't even bother trying to fathom them. As for her, he was pretty certain she felt a want for him and a want to help him, being as kind-hearted as she was. Nothing more profound. She was still a kid really, and how could she know what love was? Not that he was an expert. But he knew that she couldn't love someone like him.

He just hoped that when she did finally fall in love, it was with someone a hell of a lot more appropriate, and who could make her happy as opposed to just leading her down the garden path as he did.

Soon he would have to go, and let her go too. He knew it would probably be at a time like this, in the middle of the night, and he would sneak away while she slept. A fitting exit for a scoundrel like him.

But not yet. He didn't want to think now about how much time they had left, because it was all too short and fleeting.

In her sleep Kitty gave a little mumble, and reached out for the nearest source of heat which was of course him. Her tiny fingers found the waistband of his boxers and she tugged insistently.

Resigning himself to the shame he would feel in the morning, he let her crawl up to him and slot herself into the crook of his arm, his chest serving as a pillow. He could feel her heart beating against his side, and knew also that however wrong his devotion to Kitty, he wouldn't regret it, not a bit.

_Therefore I lie with her and she with me,_

_And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be. _


	3. Rain

Another angsty one:O I promise they won't all be. But I have not the power to choose my prompts..

What: Rain

When: Post X-3

…

**Rain**

Kitty was tentative stepping out onto the stony beach. This whole place carried a disquieting air. Perhaps it had something to do with the silence – the waves, the distant cry of birds, the light rain falling on the rocks – none of it seemed to have any effect on the stillness that pervaded. None of these sounds met Kitty's ears. All she felt was the sickening weight of sorrow.

The lake was grey, and calm for the most part. It was an unsettling calm, the kind that preludes a natural disaster. It was all too easy to imagine something disastrous happening in this awful place.

It was where Jean had died for the first time, and where Scott had followed. Two of the people Kitty had respected most, and now mourned all over again in the wake of the battle. The rain that fell on her, cold and steady, seemed very appropriate for her bleak situation. Her eyes welled with tears and she hung her head, hair dripping down over her face. Then she fell to her knees on the pebbles, a gust of sad wind rustling her jumper.

"What are you doing here?" he said, and she heard the crunch of his feet on the stones indicating that he was a few metres away.

She flinched in response, but was too miserable to get up and fight or even feel fear. Her hands dropped to the ground but she hadn't the strength to rake her nails through the tiny rocks and sand as would have probably been quite releasing. But she had no malice; the grief had her spent. Her fingers instead curled lifelessly.

"This is where they died," she said quietly. Her voice was unbroken but desolately emotionless. She didn't know why he was there, or wish to know. Probably it had something to do with all that had happened there in the past – its association with mutant affairs was unrivalled. Pyro had many reasons to be interested in mutant affairs. Maybe he was researching something for Magneto, if Magneto was even around any more.

"That's not an answer," he said. It was true; that was no reason for her to be at this lakeside in the pouring rain.

Honestly, she had no idea why she had come. She had woken up very early that morning, dressed, left a note for Storm with the message that she had just gone out for the day to clear her head (because even in a state of woe Kitty was a responsible and considerate sort of person), taken one of the cars and driven all this way. Now it was the evening, and she had no idea how she was going to get home without driving all night. Unless she fell asleep right here on the rocks. At this moment in time she didn't care.

There was a sound as Pyro stepped up beside her, but she didn't lift her head to look at him. His fire wouldn't be much good in the rain, and even if he did decide to burn her, it would hardly affect her. Her phasing ability combined with her unfeeling status would render her practically impervious.

Come to that, did he still have his powers? For all she knew he had been cured. Why he wasn't currently dead or in prison was another question she might well ask, but didn't feel so inclined.

"Have some god damn dignity, Kitty," he said.

Of all things, that shouldn't have comforted her, and yet the convulsions in her shoulders ceased almost immediately. The tears still slid down her cheeks, but silently now, and she trembled, but mainly from the cold.

She turned her face up to him, the picture of anguish.

"My heart is broken," she said, quite genuinely. She had not been in love with Jean, Scott, or the professor, but her good little soul still ached for all that she and everyone else had lost.

He should have laughed cruelly, but he didn't. He was quiet for a good minute or so, just staring down at her through the rain. She stared back, crying soundlessly.

"I can relate," he said at last, and sat down beside her. The two of them looked out at the gloomy lake.

"How long does it last?" she asked after another few minutes.

He shrugged. "Pretty much forever. You harden yourself against it over time, though."

It was so like him not to sugar-coat it. The truth was painful but she had asked for it and was sort of grateful. Solid, bitter honesty like that was what had hardened him against his despair. But was he better off for it?

"I just want to forget. So I can go on being myself."

"You're never yourself after losing people." That coming from him surprised them both and they looked at each other. The rainfall had swelled to sheets of water now, but they were so close they could see one another quite clearly. Kitty saw his eyes were the same blue-green-grey as the water of the lake and the rain and that stained her face.

"I hate you," she said for some reason. The words were choked out, and with them weeks' worth of pent-up emotion. Whether she was addressing him directly, for certainly she had plenty of reasons to hate him, or the world in general, she wasn't sure. Her sobs came thick and loud now and she buried her face in her hands, then toppled forward to lean on his shoulder.

He didn't put his arms around her but he didn't push her away either.

"I know," he said.

She slipped from her knees to sprawl awkwardly across his lap, hands clinging weakly to his sodden shirt and face buried in the crook of his neck. It was good to hold onto something so solid, warm and _alive_.

He let her stay there for who knows how long, and when she eventually quietened the moon had risen and the lake turned silver, the forest that surrounded it dark and foreboding. The rain still fell. Kitty had the feeling she would have the flu after this endeavour. Everyone at home would be worried. She still didn't care at all.

John – because at some point they had both ceased to be Pyro and Shadowcat – stood up and helped her to balance with his hands on her arms. Instinctively she wiped her eyes.

If she couldn't be the girl she had come to know as herself after what she had been through, she would be someone stronger. Not harder, like John said – although now she wasn't sure if there wasn't something beneath the man that had hardened against so many hardships. Something almost tender.

She looked up at him. "I don't really hate you."

He gave a sort-of smile through the rain. "I know."


	4. Sick

What: Sick  
When: Post X-3

…

Kitty Pryde was sick – very sick. Deliriously sick, in fact, you might go so far as to say.

It had started off as the flu, and when she refused to stay tucked up in bed when there was so much work to be done in getting the school off the ground again, it had only gotten worse. Eventually Logan had almost physically forced her to get some rest and threatened to take away her laptop if she tried to get up.

As her state of health deteriorated overnight, she forgot Logan and her laptop and the threat, and stumbled up out of bed. All she knew in her flu-addled mind was that she was boiling hot. The solution? Go outside. So she phased straight through the wall and drifted unsteadily, hardly managing to stay intangible at all, down to the ground.

John of course knew nothing of this when he found her in the park. What were the odds that he would be the one to come across her as she weaved her erratic way down the path at two o' clock in the morning on that chilly Autumn night? Likely the few others who had seen her waved her aside as another drunken teenager. Tragic.

However when John caught sight of her tripping _through_ the corner of the bench, he did take notice.

Kitty Pryde, as in Shadowcat? Drunk as a loon, out in the park at this time of night, in what he now saw were pyjamas? It didn't add up, to say the least.

So he stood up from where he had been leant up against a tree in the shadows, hoping to get some sleep, and approached her.

"Kitty," he said slowly once he was in front of her. She stopped where she was and swayed a little, but didn't appear to see him properly.

"Kitty," he repeated and reached out cautiously to nudge her shoulder. The only immediate effect was for her to wobble and blink, eyes out of unison.

There was a moment of silence in which neither of them moved.

Then she spun suddenly on her heel, and collapsed on her knees. Though it was dark and he couldn't make much out, there came from her the distinct sounds of someone throwing up.

"God, Kitty, are you completely drunk?" he curled his lip in disgust, wondering why he was still here even looking at her. Admittedly she was the most interesting thing he had seen for some time, given that most of his days recently had been spent in the company of pigeons and stray dogs.

He heard a tiny and hopeless voice, "I'm not well."

"I'll say," not knowing quite why, he leaned down and hauled her to her feet. Her face was now almost glowing, so pale and shiny with sweat she had become. He touched her forehead tentatively, and was surprised at how feverous she was.

As if to illustrate that fact, Kitty tumbled forward and was only saved from hitting the ground hard by John's catching her by the arms. "Bloody hell, sit down you idiot," he grumbled, pointing her in the direction of the bench and offering just enough help that she didn't quite fall face-first onto it. Then he sat beside her, uncertain of how to continue.

He was not particularly eager to be there right now. Kitty looked near to the verge of being sick again. On the other hand, he was not quite such a jerk as he would feel guiltless if he left her now, hallucinating in the park in the middle of the night.

Aware that it was cold, and she was ill, he reluctantly removed his coat and slung it round her shoulders. It was about ten sizes too big, and she looked all the more pathetic and small tucked into it, but much as he disliked her he didn't really want her to die. At least not under these circumstances. That would be pretty lame.

"Are you John?" he noticed she had turned to him, and he was grateful for this brief moment of almost-lucidity.

"Yes," he said, though the name wasn't his favourite. He reckoned though that she would not currently be capable of understanding that a person could go by two names.

"I'm Kitty," she said. Her voice told him all too clearly that her throat was full of phlegm.

"I know."

A little white hand emerged from the folds of his coat and went to her face, touching her hot cheeks and dry lips softly. In the weak moonlight he could make out the glisten of tears on her profile.

"I feel bad," she told him. He could imagine it was exactly the voice and tone she would have used when she was sick and about five years old. Only now her mother wasn't there to take care of her. Just a homeless pyromaniac.

"You look bad," he admitted. He had never been very good at comforting.

Kitty's shoulders were quaking beneath the enormous jacket, and he had never felt so awkward. He had never thought he would be in such a situation, sat next to Kitty in the middle of the night while she cried and coughed.

He had to take her home, but he was none too happy at the prospect of visiting the mansion. Unfortunately, setting her on the right road and hoping she made her way back alone was not really going to cut it. She would end up lost and frozen or worse, knowing the types that hung around in the city after dark.

"Let's go back to your house," he said eventually, unwilling to even pronounce, '_the institute_'.

"No," she said, and he faltered as he went to stand up. "It's too far."

"What? It's only about two—"

"No. It's in Illinois."

He sighed and decided there was no use listening to anything she had to say. He held out his hand impatiently. "Come on, Casper," he said in reference to her ashen complexion. It was utterly lost on her, naturally, but she took his hand in her own little clammy paw and let him pull her up.

"Where are we going?" she asked, and winced at the pain of either the headache, the sore throat, the itchy nose – it could have been anything, John wasn't going to ask.

"Home," he said firmly, then stopped again as he realised she wasn't following though still he held her hand. Looking back he found her rocking dangerously on her feet, and once again he caught her before she crumpled on the spot. "You're a basket case, girl" he grouched, hoisting her up in a fireman's lift. "And don't go and puke all over me or I'll just dump you in the gutter."

She did not, thankfully, merely allowed her dark head to loll against his shoulder, apparently lulled by the beat of his walk. He found her to be surprisingly light for someone he knew to be stronger than she looked. Combined with the fact that she was very still in his arms, it wasn't really much trouble carrying her and quite soon they were at the mansion.

Carefully he placed her down on the porch in a sitting position, balancing her against the heavy door after sliding off his coat. He had plans to ring the doorbell and then run for it, but before he did, he hesitated. Kitty looked up at him with massive and glossy eyes. Lingering on the step, he held out his hand to her, for what reason he couldn't say. She took it straight away, and then lifted it to her flushed cheek. She knew not what she did but it was oddly endearing, especially to someone who had not been touched tenderly for as long as he could remember.

"Get well soon, Kitty," he said softly.


End file.
